


Cupid's Got a Knife

by smudgay



Series: Sansa/Margaery AUs that no one asked for [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, F/F, Past Abuse, Romantic Comedy, Sansa dates a lot of people but it doesn't end well
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-17 09:55:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9318101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smudgay/pseuds/smudgay
Summary: As ironic as it is for a literal matchmaker to not believe in love, Margaery does not care. Never mind that her own brother and fellow cupid decided to quit his job and disappoint the family by pursuing love with a human, she just doesn't see the benefit. Matchmaking is all about maximising benefits, and so her unions are never love-filled but strategic.That is, until she royally screws over Sansa Stark with a series of really shitty matches and tries to fix it by hooking herself up with the poor girl.OR the modren-fantasy-cupid AU that no one asked for





	1. Joffrey 1

Margaery stood at the top of some office building with an arrow notched in her bow. She watched the humans passing below her with no real interest. She thought about just shooting an arrow at one for fun, just to see what kind of trouble she could cause, but remembered how her grandmother had scolded her for that the last three times she did it.

Monday nights were just so damn boring, even the angry humans who'd been ripped out of their comfortable weekends seemed to agree.

She sighed and put her arrow back in her quiver. With another sigh, she tossed the bow up into the air as it dissolved away, teleported to her room in The Reach by way of magic that she was far too used to to be excited about. She tapped the strap of her quiver and it disappeared in the same way, along with all the arrows.

Then she jumped from the roof, her large white wings carried her to the ground with ease. More magic concealed her from the sight of the humans and with the snap of her fingers, two little daggers appeared in her hands. The daggers were a close-quarters version of the arrows, but the stabbing that using them required was too realistic for most cupids—which were now almost completely dominated by the Tyrell family, after most figured that they'd rather just stay comfortably in The Reach rather than come down to the cold and wet earth.

Well, someone had to do it. And it might as well have been Margaery Tyrell, who had a great eye for planning.

She spun the daggers in her hands, whistling as her wings also dissolved away with magic. Her eyes scanned the streets with care now, wanting to get one last match in before she went to visit her brother.

Spotting a tall red-headed, she almost snapped her neck trying to stop her brisk pace to get a better look.

 _Yes_ , she thought,  _perfect_.

The girl looked so pathetically sad that it was like she was almost begging to be matched up. As Margaery stepping closer to her, she noticed several things. First, this very pretty and very melancholic girl was standing alone leaned against the damp and bricked outside of a café. She stared out at the street like she was waiting for a car to come out and hit her, or like she was waiting for it to happen to someone else. Then, Margaery noticed that she was holding a romance-filled fantasy novel, which seemed horribly unfitting for the frown on her face but Margaery let her be. Humans were always so confusing like that.

But she was a romantic, that much was obvious by the pink buzz that emanated from her. Margaery could see it, obviously. It was the same pink glow that surrounded her magic and it was the one hint that she had that the person she was looking at would be very susceptible to her magic. Of course, Margaery could always blink and look at the girl's aura, which would be a much better tell of her personality but Margaery hated doing that. It was a power all cupids had, even the ones that cast aside their angelic nature to live in earth like their brother, but it had always felt  _wrong_ some how. Human auras were so bright and filled with colour and they told her stories that she did not want to hear. No, Margaery trusted her eyes more and had learned over several years that humans were easy to read and looking at auras was not required. The auras were supposed to be used to find the perfect, love-filled match for another, but Margaery didn't believe in that. They say that the symbol of a 'soulmate' (whatever that was) flares up behind an aura if the match is strong enough, but Margaery didn't believe in that either, so she never bothered with it.

At any rate, the pink buzz was a romantic aura so strong that she could see it without blinking her eyes into aura-vision (a silly thing her brother called it), and this girl happened to have it.

Margaery stared at her more, the frown hadn't left the girl's face at all and she looked almost focused on being sad. She couldn't have been any more than 17 years old and she already looked as jaded as any elderly man.  _Teenage angst_ , Margaery thought. She'd dealt with (and caused) her fair share of that. Still, she was pretty. Tall with fair skin and freckles. She had these bright blue eyes and soft pink lips that turned so perfectly into a frown that Margaery felt herself yearning to see what a smile on her face must be like. She'd turn into a real looker when she aged a bit more, not that she wasn't beautiful already, but she was still young and growing.

The brunette pulled a small device from her uniform's pocket and held it up to the girl's face. The device beeped and hologram shot up displaying basic information on the girl:

 

 

> **Name** : Sansa Stark  
>  **Age** : 17  
>  **Birthday** : September 21st  
>  **Likes** : Lemon cakes, Rom-coms, Daydreaming, Knitting, Her family  
>  **Dislikes** : Pulp in her orange juice, Arya's annoyingness, Spicy food, Being called stupid  
>  **Siblings** : Robb Stark, Arya Stark, Bran Stark, Rickon Stark  
>  **Parents** : Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully Stark  
>  **Other notable family members** : Jon Snow (cousin), Theon Greyjoy (not related, but he might as well be)   
>  **Other notes** : Has a large, wolfish dog named "Lady". If that doesn't tell you what kind of person Sansa Stark is, then this sassy AI isn't sure what will _._

Margaery smirked and shut the device off, stuffing it back in her pocket. So, this was Sansa Stark? She sure looked sad for someone who was so innocent. But that wouldn't matter soon, not after Margaery gave her a match that would change her world.

But first, preparations had to be made.

Margaery pulled something else from her pockets; a small lipstick that she preceded to open, twist and smear on her lips. Another device, but one with a far subtler use.

Then she darted off into a nearby alley, snapping so the magic concealing her washed away and her work clothes turned into something more fitting for the setting, and more well… _fitting_. Maybe a bit too fitting, but it would help nonetheless.

She swaggered back to the sidewalk, hip swinging and eyes locked on Sansa who broke her staring contest with the road to look at the woman staring into her. Her face flushed a deep red, and she snapped her attention back to the road.

Margaery grinned, content with herself, and sauntered up to Sansa. "You've been staring at that road a long time, sweetling." She let her words slur in a false drunkenness, it was easier to act overly friendly when you pretended to be drunk after all.

Sansa didn't budge, gulping dramatically but not daring to look Margaery in the eyes.

"What's wrong?" Margaery offered, leaning in close and using some magic to let the smell of alcohol leave her mouth.

"You're drunk," Sansa remarked, gulping again.

"And you're sad."

"But I am less sad than you are drunk."

Margaery chuckled, "clever girl. Why don't you tell me what's wrong? Maybe I can help?"

Sansa broke her gaze with the street to look back at Margaery. For the first time, Margaery noticed that Sansa was just as damp as the street, as if she'd been standing here a while. Well, she must have been. Because it rained hours ago, and Sansa looked like she stood through the whole thing.

"I don't think you could help me with anything," she said bluntly, turning her head back with her nose high in the air like she was better than Margaery. But the act didn't fool the brunette, who could read the girl well, partly because she was good at reading people and then partly because the girl was painfully obvious. The snobby attitude was fed to her by someone, probably her mother, but she fed into it because she felt so insecure with herself that pretending like she was better than others somehow helped. She was bad at it though, only really turning her nose up when she was at particular lows—like this one. "Who even gets drunk in the middle of the day?"

 _Lots of people_ , Margaery thought to say, but she refrained. That was a truth that the girl did not need now.

"Okay," Margaery leaned against the wall beside her, "then I'll wait here until you tell me." Unlike the human, Margaery was immortal. She literally had all of time to wait for Sansa Stark to open up to her.

Dozens of cars passed them without a word from Sansa. It rained again, and people on the streets darted into the stores but the two of them stood there, Sansa's eyes trained on the road.

Eventually, hair wet and sky dark with the setting sun, Sansa unzipped her coat (a dark blue bomber jacket that looked new but well loved) and threw it, actually  _threw_  it, over Margaery's head.

"It's going to rain again," she said coolly, pointing at the sky, "One last time before the end of the day."

Margaery looked up at her with confusion. "And?"

"You don't have a coat."

"And now neither do you."

Sansa scrunched up her nose, she was trying to say something but couldn't get her words out.

"I'm used to the cold," she settled on, "I come from Winterfell and there it rains all summer and snows all the other days."

"And?" Margaery asked again, liking the feeling of teasing the girl.

"You'll get a cold."

She could not get colds, or ill in the same way that humans did but she could already tell that Sansa was stubborn person. So, she decided to put Sansa's jacket on, which smelt wonderfully of vanilla and sandalwood; the perfect blend of musk and sweetness. That was Sansa's natural scent, she could tell, that enhanced cupid nose coming to her aid, but there was a hint of something flowery that was undoubtedly perfume. The nice kind that girls like Sansa wore on important days.

She glanced at Sansa out of the corner of her eye and noticed that under the dark blue coat was a nice light dress, the sweet kind that girls like Sansa also wore on important days.

Days like dates.

"Take the coat back," Margaery pulled the jacket off her body, "the rain will ruin your dress."

Sansa shook her head, "I don't need it. Your dress is nice too."

"You mean it gives you a nice view of my tits," Margaery smirked, Sansa flushed but did not respond, eyes still in the road. "But it's not that nice of a dress, and your date won't like it if your dress is all ruined."

To that, Sansa snapped her head to look at Margaery, eyes wide with alarm.

"How did you…" her voice trailed, too afraid to even finish her own sentences.

"A woman's intuition," Margaery winked, "did he stand you up?"

Sansa nodded slowly, not wanting to admit it but far too honest for her own good. "Or maybe he'll still come," she sighed hopefully, "he gave me this book yesterday," she held up the romance novel, "and there's a note inside that says 'I can't wait for our date' so he didn't forget, he's just late."

Margaery narrowed her eyes, "what's this asshole's name?"

"Joffrey," Sansa bit her lip, "and he's not an asshole."

"How long have you been waiting here?"

Sansa flushed, "A-all day…"

"He's an asshole!" Margaery reached out to grip poor sweet and innocent Sansa's arm. "Did you call him?"

She nods slowly, "he didn't pick up, and his uncle said that he left already, and now my phone died so I can't call anyone else and I don't want–he'll come, I know it. H-he gave me this book and…maybe I got the address wrong or I came at the wrong time or maybe I mess up something…I always mess up som–"

Margaery couldn't help herself, somehow, in someway, Sansa ended up in her arms, captured in a gentle embrace. The gesture threw Sansa off, sending her into a fit of blushing and stuttering.

"Has he done this before?" She asked softly into Sansa's neck.

"No, he…" Sansa leaned her forehead into Margaery shoulder, "this is our first date. My first date. Ever. I just thought-I thought-I'm so tired…"

Margaery burned her head deeper into Sansa's neck, noticing now that the girl shook, crying probably. "Why don't we go into that café and I'll buy you hot chocolate, okay?"

"And cake?" Sansa sniffled.

Margaery smiled, taken aback by Sansa's gentle question. "Yes," she pulled back out of the hug, wiping Sansa's tears away with her fingers. "There will be cake. Are you fond of lemon cake?"

Sansa perked up, "it's my favourite."

*********

In the café now, Sansa's mood seemed to have lightened, seemingly by the presence of sweets alone. How anyone could stand a girl like this up, Margaery couldn't even begin to fathom.

"So," Sansa started, waiting until she was done chewing to speak like a true lady would (though she wolfed down half of the full cake they'd ordered already before she was finally calm enough to speak in the first place), "what's your name?"

Margaery couldn't give her a real name, that was too controlling, too absolute. They'd never see each other again after so there was no point. Humans died like flies to her, she needn't concern herself with them so personally.

But her attempt at a fake name was almost laughable.

"Margret Tyrene," she cringed as soon as the words left her mouth.

"Margret," Sansa repeated it over and over again in whispers like she was burning it to memory.

Margaery—or Margret now—nodded with a forced smiled.

"Can I call you Marg?" She asked, stuffing more cake into her mouth. Margaery hadn't touched the cake at all, regrettably now, as she watched Sansa eat like it was the best thing in the world. Margaery didn't need to eat at all, but she felt herself wanting to.

"Sure," Margaery nodded, "my brother calls me that sometimes as well." She grimaced, a personal bit of information that she hadn't intended to, or even wanted to, share had spilled from her like it was meant to.

Sansa light up again, more that she had when she was eating the cake, "you have a brother?"

Margaery wondered for a second if she looked so happy because she'd wanted to be set up with one of her brother's instead of this Joffrey but Margaery knew what a horrible idea that was. Loras was gay and happily in-love. Garlan too was happily in-love and married to his very pregnant wife. And Willas was well…maybe that one could work but he had little to offer Sansa and matching with a human was of no benefit to him.

"I have three, actually," Margaery smiled and then grimaced again, another personal tidbit leaving her mouth. "Gargles, Lorax and William." She groaned, hating the way Sansa seemed to turn her typically scheme-filled brain into a calm ocean of honesty (but she didn't mind it, not much, not really).

Sansa glowed, "I have three brothers too."

"Yes," Margaery smiled pleasantly, "brothers can be a real…experience."

"Do you have a sister?" Sansa sipped her hot chocolate.

"No," Margaery sat back, uncomfortable with Sansa's enthusiasm to get to know her. So, uncomfortable that she could scarcely manage to bring out her famous charms. "I've always wanted one though. I have many female cousins but they lack that closeness." Margaery wanted to hit herself. There was something about this girl that was making her feel strange, something even the great Margaery Tryell couldn't put her finger on, and then there was something infection about the girl's honesty that Margaery felt like returning it with her own bits of honesty. And Margaery Tyrell was rarely honest.

"I have a sister," Sansa scrunched up her nose and Margaery recalled the information about an 'Arya Stark'. "She's really annoying and acts more like a boy than anything so she's not even like a sister at all. I hate her," Sansa bit her lip, "and I love her." She flushed as if her love for her family was some secret she couldn't bear to admit.  _Teenagers_ , Margaery thought. "I think you'd make a good sister, Margret."

Margaery nodded, "perhaps we might be like sisters one day."

Sansa lit up at that, flushing with happiness rather than embarrassment like she usually did. "I'd like that," she mumbled, going back to her cake and hot chocolate.

It was a lie, of course. Margaery was sure they'd never meet again. But she wanted to desperately to make the girl smile that she would have said anything, done anything.

Maybe that was what led to be careless.

"So," Margaery started after a while, "tell me about this Joffrey."

"There's not much to tell," Sansa shrugged, "he's popular at school and all the girls like him a lot and he acts like he's a prince and sometimes I think he might be one. He just seems like he comes right out of a book, rich and handsome. Then he asked me out.  _Me_."

Sansa bit her lower lip, something Margaery had noticed to be a nervous habit. "But then he stood me up, I guess," she sighed, "I'm sure he'll have an explanation about it when I see him at school tomorrow."

"I'm sure." And Margaery was, he sounded like a real teenage Romeo, breaking hearts and using women. A product of young age and male hormones, usually a stage that passed with age and wisdom. He sounded like less than what Sansa deserved, but the girl was set in the idea of a prince. Almost as if she had been convinced that was what she wanted, and then she'd convinced herself of that.

*********

"Sansa!" Robb Stark busted through the doors of the café some time later, his auburn hair far darker than Sansa's but the light blue eyes gave them away as siblings. He too, was tall and pretty.

Sansa snapped up in her seat, staring at her brother wide-eyed and embarrassed. Their conversation had been so pleasant that she didn't notice how late it had gotten. Margaery was thankful at least that this seemed to be some 24-hour café that didn't interrupt their time together with the threats of how they were going to close soon.

"Robb," she waved him over and he stomped by, trying to play the part of the angry brother even though all his anger had dissolved the second he saw Sansa.

"I called you a thousand times," he glared at her, and Sansa bit her lip on response.

"My phone is dead."

" You couldn't have charged it?" He gestured around the store before his eyes fell to a wall socket right beside them. "Did you forget your charger?"

Sansa nodded slowly, still biting her lip.

He sighed, and turned to address Margaery now, who hadn't been looking forward to speaking with him at all. "Who's this?"

"Margret Tyrene, she bought me cake and hot chocolate."

Robb stared back at his sister with his face covered in bewilderment. "What?" He blinked, "a stranger, Sansa?"

"We're not really strangers anymore, Robb," Margaery winked, something in her wanting to tease him too, just in case he was as fun to do that too as Sansa was.

His face lit up with red, and Margaery decided that he was just as fun to tease (though the result was much less pretty).

"I-I-I," he stammered, "w-what?"

"Joffrey stood me up, and she waited with me for hours, even in the rain, and she bought me cake and-" Sansa sneezed, hours of standing in the rain catching up with her.

"You stood in the rain?" Robb was ignoring Margaery now, focusing on his sister, "Gods, Sansa, why? Where's your coat? Why didn't you call me?" His voice droned on, worried question after question filling the air as Sansa flushed more and bit her lip until it was finally bleeding.

Robb sighed, "it's okay, let's go home, alright?" He slapped down some money for Margaery, to pay for the cake and the drink, and rushed out the door just the same way that he stomped in.

Sansa hovered by Margaery, "thank you" she managed, fighting the consuming red in her face.

Margaery stood up, smiled, and pressed a chaste kiss to Sansa's soft lips. The red lipstick she applied before was working its magic; the results she'd get to see once she was back in Highgarden. She plunged one of the daggers into Sansa's stomach as she pulled back from the kiss, Sansa's face redder than her hair while Margaery's own featured an uncharacteristic blush. The other dagger burned in her hand and Sansa scurried away after her brother's impatiently yelling.

When the girl had left completely, invisible dagger sticking out from her stomach, Margery wrote Joffrey's name on the other dagger and sent the tool away, off to find its target.

She knew Sansa would never see her again, but if they ever did meet, she was sure Sansa would thank her for making her dreams come true with the princely Joffrey Baratheon.

 


	2. Joffrey 2

Margaery flew on to her brother's balcony with a groan, spotting her brother there already tapping his foot angrily and crossing his arms over his chest as he readied the same speech he gave her every time she refused to use the front door.

"Marg—"

Margaery raised up a finger, silencing him. Of course, he could see her despite the magic she used to hide herself, while he did cast away his angelic nature to live on earth, he retained some powers. One of which involved being able to see through angelic magic. "Don't start, Loras," Margaery sighed, "I've had quite the day."

Loras raised an eyebrow at her, "shopping?"

Margaery mirrored his action, "no?"

Lora reached out, pulling at the jacket that was still on Margaery's body, "then where'd you get this?"

Margaery flushed, but quickly hid it behind a flourish of movements that she used to dissolve her wings and dispel the magic hiding her. "It's related to the long day I've had."

"Can't be so bad if you got a nice jacket out of it," Loras smiled, "can I wear it? It's quite nice."

"No," Margaery snapped, "you'll ruin it." She pushed past her brother and into his small apartment, the one he shared with his human boyfriend, the very same one that he cast off his angelic heritage for. "Is Renly here?" Margaery jumped on to the sofa, inquired after the boyfriend as she flicked the TV on with a simple motion.

"No. Magic. In. The. House." Loras groaned, tossing his sister the TV remote to avoid her doing that again in front of someone like Renly, who for all his sweetness, just wasn't ready to learn that magic was real and that angels lived in the sky in a place called The Reach. "And no, he's not. Which is good for you because he's starting to wonder why he never hears you come through the door."

Margaery conjures a glass of wine to another groan from her brother, "you should just tell him."

"Not that easy," Loras retorts, running into the kitchen to grab human wine and human wine glasses for his sister to use instead. "You know what grandmother is always saying."

Margery shrugs, taking the glasses and bottle from her brother's hands to set them aside and sip her own angelic blend of wine in some intricate cup she'd had stored away in her room. "Grandmother says a lot of things, you don't even listen to half the things she says."

Loras flushes, "I do." Though even he knew that was a lie as it left his mouth. The whole running away with a human thing was, after all, something his grandmother explicitly told him not to do, despite how she went on and on about soulmates. To their grandmother, soulmates were something humans had the privilege of, not angels. However, she didn't see Renly's aura. His was strong, filled with yellows and oranges and greens and at the back—oh that spot where the mark of a soulmate flashes—there was something that Loras knew was his. There was a red rose wrapping around a rapier. A rose, the Tyrell symbol, and a rapier, Loras's old hobby and famous talent. Angels did not have auras, and their grandmother insisted that they didn't have soulmates either, but Loras felt like he was Renly's anyway. "But this one is important, I love Renly and I don't want to ruin that."

Margaery looked at Loras with something between disgust and pity, nose scrunched up as she let out a small sigh, "Love isn't real. You just think he's hot and–" Margaery stopped herself, no matter how many times they had this discussion, it always ended the same way; with Loras and Margaery yelling at each other. She was too tired for that now. "What about him being your soulmate? Soulmates are meant to be together."

Loras nodded, "when I look at his aura, I see myself reflected back, which means he's my soulmate but..." Loras paused, taking in a deep breath to steady himself before continuing, "I don't have an aura, I don't know if I'm his soulmate and I don't want to hurt him."

Margaery shrugged again, she hadn't looked at an aura in decades, what did she know? "If he's your soulmate, then he'll want to stay with you even after learning you're a little more than human." Not that soulmates were anything to go on. Often, people didn't even have them or they never paired up. Or that was how it was when Margaery had bothered to look at auras before. She didn't know and didn't care if it was any different now.

"Maybe," Loras sighed, "but tell me about your day."

Margaery smiled, "I met a girl. She's 17 and I rocked her world."

"Ugh, Marg, you couldn't even wait until she was 18?" He frowned deeply, "I mean if the sex was good, fine, but she's so young."

Margaery laughed and hit her brother's arm, "not like that," she patted the spot beside her in the sofa for Loras to sit and lowered the volume on the TV–with the remote this time. "She got stood up by her date, he sounds like an idiot but she likes him so I did her a favour and matched them up."

Loras made a face, one Margaery knew meant that he didn't approve, "how did you do it?"

"Daggers," Margaery replied calmly, "I stabbed one in her and sent the other one off to stab itself into Joffrey Baratheon."

"Baratheon?" Loras's eyes widened, "he's related to my boyfriend?" Loras wasn't too shocked that he'd never heard of a Joffrey before. Renly didn't like his family much, after they more or less cast him off, so he avoided mentioning them in any way. Loras had met his brothers, Stannis and Robert, but never a Joffrey.

Margaery pouted, "I don't know anything about him except that his name is Joffrey Baratheon and that he acts like a prince and all the girls love him, especially Sansa Stark. Which is the girl's name."

"Okay," Loras continued, "so you matched up Sansa with Joffrey and…?"

"And I used the lipstick," Margaery pulled the lipstick out from her pocket, waving it around, "to keep track of her."

"And you think all of this is a good idea? Joffrey and the lipstick and…wait..." Loras reached out, grabbing the lipstick from his sister's hands, "you still use this old crap?" The idea was simple, like a GPS tracking machine but sexier, or at least that was how their grandmother explained it to them years ago. Margaery used it from time to time, but it was hardly a regular tool for her, mostly because the method of usage was a little dated. First, you'd apply the lipstick to yourself, then you'd kiss the lip of the person you wanted to use it on. There were better ways to do that now, but Margaery liked the lipstick for some reason. Their grandmother liked it too. Loras didn't get it. "You kissed her? A girl you just met and plan on never seeing again?"

Margaery flushed and took the lipstick back like her brother had just insulted her, and he had, in a way, "there's nothing wrong with that." When she went home to Highgarden, the orb in her room would display Sansa Stark, and she could watch her and follow her around from the comfort of her room. Just to make sure that Joffrey was treating her right, and of course he would be, because Margaery's matches never ended poorly. Sure, they lacked love, but they were beneficial. Except this one was….

"You made a love match?"

Margaery groaned a bit, looking up at her brother, "I didn't realize it was that."

Loras lit up, "this is your first one! You'd always matched people up because of how they'd benefit each other but now you paired up two love-struck teenagers!"

The doorbell rang and Loras jumped up, quickly pecking his sister on the forehead before he dashed to the door.

"Renly!" Loras shouted, Margaery could hear their voices by the entrance but she paid them no mind. Distracted by the realization that she in fact just had matched up people based on love, something she never did, something she didn't even believe in. She hadn't realized it at the time, it just felt like she was trying to do something to make Sansa happy.

She gulped, worried for once that maybe this match wouldn't work out. It was, after all, not Margaery's usual style.

"Hey, Margaery," Renly smiled, sitting down beside her and snapping her mind away from her thoughts. Renly was a nice guy, with a perfectly trimmed beard and the square-kind of attractive face that people liked. Against Loras, who was also tall, attractive and perfectly groomed, they looked like a fake couple, one that people tried to convince themselves was real but sadly wasn't. Except Renly and Loras were real— _real_  and sickeningly sweet.

Margaery scrunched up her nose as she watched Loras massage his boyfriend's shoulders and lean down to kiss his cheeks.

 _Gross_.

"Well!" Margaery jumped up quickly, "I'm going to go before I see what can not be unseen."

"It's just kissing, Margaery," Renly smiled dumbly, that way he did whenever he was talking about Loras, and Margaery just shook her head.

"I need to get home anyway," she went around the sofa to give her brother a quick hug before she started towards the balcony.

"Marg," Loras glared at her, "the door is that way."

Margaery groaned and turned the other way, she wanted to say something about how Loras was just jealous that he lost his wings now and want able to fly any more but couldn't in front of the very human and very oblivious Renly.

"Hey, Margaery," Renly smiled at the cupid, "I like the jacket."

Margaery flushed and without another word she was out the door, down the elevator, and out of the apartment complex entirely. With the snap of her fingers, she vanished, teleporting herself to The Reach; and more over to her room him Highgarden.

*********

The Reach was beautiful, to put it simply. It was unlike any place on earth (mostly because it wasn't on earth but in the sky). The jewel of the beautiful Reach though was the capitol, Highgarden. The greens were brighter there and the sun was always just the right amount of hot. The nights were cool and the stars were plentiful and shimmering. The water was crisp and the air was clean. Flowers bloomed freely and happily, it was utopia in the simplest of forms.

To Margaery though, it was home. And while the lakes and skies and fancy buildings were nice, she loved the sprawling and dirty gardens. The gardens filled with unearthly flowers, and some that were similar enough to earth breeds.

She never made it any secret that she loved The Reach, and her room was perhaps her favourite part; even though it was more garden than room, really.

When Margaery materialized, feeling herself become solid in her room, she was unsurprised to see her grandmother there waiting for her.

Olenna Tyrell was a woman of many words, of many opinions and stories and she was especially so with her granddaughter Margaery. It was for that reason that Margaery wasn't alarmed to see her, and continued on like they'd agreed to meet here.

"Grandmother," Margaery smiled.

Olenna was odd, and perhaps the only angel that enjoyed looking old. Even though they were immune to the effects of aging, Olenna chose to age herself. Even looking as old as she did, she was still beautiful, a trait of the Tyrell family that even Olenna couldn't shake off.

"You need to get better books in your room," Olenna looked up from the book she was reading, some nonsensical thing that Margaery had picked up years ago, and kept because the cover was pretty. She was lying down in Margaery's bed, ruining the sheets that their maids had lovingly folded.

"I'm not much of a reader," Margaery sighed, walking toward the orb on her night stand. She took the lipstick out if her pocket and pushed it into the orb where it vanished as the orb lit up to display Sansa Stark at home surrounded by her family. They were eating and talking and laughing. They were happy,  _she_  was happy.

"Who is that," Olenna asked, tossing the book aside and choosing instead to stick her face close to the orb, "which one did you use the lipstick on?"

"The red-headed girl," Margaery's tapped the orb, point at Sansa, "she got stood up today."

"Ah," Olenna pulled back, "tell me this over dinner but you went to see Loras today, correct?"

Margaery's nodded, "he wants you to come visit."

Olenna scoffed, she always did this. Inquire after Loras and Renly but would remain far too stubborn to visit them. She hadn't been on earth for centuries, choosing instead to help manage the affairs of Highgarden and lead the cupids from there. "Tell me how he is, is his boyfriend still stupid?"

"Yes," Margaery laughed, "Loras is well and Renly is as dumb as ever."

Olenna smiled at that, turning to leave Margaery to her devices. "Good," she said, "if he ever decides to come to his senses and become an angel again tell him I've kept his wings," she pauses, "and tell him that he can come up here to Highgarden himself but Renly isn't allowed."

It wasn't that humans themselves weren't allowed here in The Reach. Rather, it was simple to get here if you knew how and someone wanted you to be here. It was only the matter of purchasing an unlisted plane ticket and riding that plane for a couple of hours. Of course, regular humans couldn't breathe up here so magic had to be cast on them and their lives were so short to the immortal angels that it seemed as though you could blink and all the humans in The Reach were gone.

It was simply that Olenna didn't want Renly here, and Loras wouldn't go anywhere that Renly wasn't allowed. 

"Wait," Margaery's reached out, stopping her grandmother from leaving, "I've wondered this for so long but why did Loras insist on casting aside his angelic heritage for Renly? Could he not have both?"

Olenna smiled sweetly, though Margaery could tell there was sympathy in her eyes (sympathy for who, Margaery did not know). "No," she answered simply, "it's painful for an immortal to love a mortal and all angels must come back to The Reach from time to time."

Margaery's nodded slowly, not really getting it but accepting it anyway.

"Nice jacket," Olenna added and Margaery groaned in response. She'd have to remind herself never to wear Sansa's stupid bomber jacket again. 

And if she ever saw the girl again, she'd give the jacket back.

*********

When she went back to her room after dinner, she tapped the orb again and watched as it lit up once more. Sansa looked bright and happy, curling the wire of the landline as someone talked on the other end. Joffrey, she could feel, was the one talking.

She smiled with the thought of a job well done, and tapped her orb off.

She didn't need to check up on Sansa again, but kept the orb there just in case.

 


	3. Joffrey 3

Margery had been busy.

Between making more matches, bothering Loras and listening to her grandmother drone on about _god knows what,_ she didn't have the time to look back into her orb. The time to see what Sansa was doing. Two years had passed, which was nothing for the angel at all but proved beyond difficult for the human.

Margaery hadn't forgotten Sansa, there were days that she thought about going growing down to earth just to watch her but decided against it.

It wasn't until Margaery found herself bored and alone in her room that she decided to, just for a little bit, check up on Sansa with her orb.

She pressed the device, watching as colours swirled around it until the image of Sansa materialized on the glass. Margaery could see her clearly; red-hair and bright blue eyes but something was _wrong_. She wasn't happy or glowing, and the sweet girl talking on the phone that she'd seen two years ago, was now a crumbling shell of a girl.

Margaery gulped, enlarging the image of Sansa. On her cheek, clear as day, was a dark bruise. Margaery reached out, touching the image of Sansa as she desperately wished it was the real girl she could touch—heal, protect. Who did this? Who did—

"Sansa!" A voice from the orb snapped Sansa's attention up from her pale fingers. Margaery was forced to watch from her end, unable to act.

Joffrey appeared, older and more handsome now, but Margaery felt her stomach turn. He was not princely at all; his smile was sadistic and his eyes were dark.

He gripped Sansa's jaw in his hand tightly, not caring that his grasp hurt the girl. Sansa, on the other hand, looked used to it, her eyes glazed over with acceptance. He crashed his lips to hers, hard and demanding, with little care or love. As he pulled back, still gripping Sansa's jaw, he smiled as said something that set Margaery ablaze:

"Don't you ever talk back to me again, are we clear? You're my lady and my lady does what I tell her to do."

Margaery shut the orb off, picking up her uniform and warping it on to her body before she barreled out if her room.

"Grandmother!" She wailed, losing any bit of tact and patient that she'd perfected over the years. She stormed through the hallways, rushing and yelling into every room until she found the one with her grandmother.

"What?" Her grandmother glared, raising from her spot in the Tyrell castle tea room. One look at her granddaughter's pale face told her to abandon her usual teasing time for the day. "What's wrong," she decided on, stepping closer to Margaery.

"I need leave to go back to earth now. And I need permission to shatter a bond I made." Margaret spoke quick, with an urgency that showed that she didn't care for an answer, like she'd act regardless of what her grandmother said.

Olenna sensed that and sighed, "you know that bonds are absolute. Once you match two people, they are stuck together."

"I matched the wrong two people," Margaery winced, not wanting to admit it but needing to for Sansa's sake. "I want to remove the daggers that I put in them and release the bond."

"Is this about that girl? That red-head?"

Margaery gulped, "yes."

"Okay," her grandmother looked at her, calm in comparison to Margaery's anxious state, "you know that by removing the dagger you will scar her, correct?"

Margaret nodded. It was no secret that breaking a bond had consequences, which is why it was so important for cupids to do their jobs right. A broken bond left a scar, deep and unhealable. Too many scars made a person reluctant to love, or unable to altogether. Margaery didn't want Sansa to be loveless, by Joffrey was a man she needed to be free from. Margaery, who didn't even believe in love, knew that there was none to be found in him.

This was her fault, and she was going to fix it. She'd only wanted Sansa to be happy, but it was clear Joffrey was not the man to do that.

"Okay," Olenna said again, waving her hand to open a portal for Margaery. "If you come back late, don't make too much noise. You know how sensitive my ears are."

Without another word, Margaery tore into the portal and warped herself in front of the Lannister estate, where Sansa was now.

She could hear a party, and then she could see a party, with bright lights spilling through windows and people drunkenly tumbling around. Margaery sighed, she didn't like humans much but she especially didn't like them in settings like these.

She stepped forward and slipped through the door, eyes scanning the large mansion for Sansa. The place felt like a modern castle. Where as the Tyrell castle was dated, but filled with magic, this place was new and filled with recent technologies. It was easy enough to find Sansa in the crowd, she was the only one set apart, by herself and staring into her glass like it might jump out and attack her.

Margaery gulped.

Sansa was pretty, of course, that much she knew two years ago, but she was even prettier now at 19. But just like their first meeting, a frown was sprawled over Sansa's face. Except, while the 17-year-old Sansa had at least been hopefully, this one looked like hope was a foreign concept.

What was one a bright pink romantic aura had dulled completely and was almost entirely gone.

Margaery wrapped her arms around the girl, not caring that her arms went through her, or that Sansa couldn't even see or feel her.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, knowing it was all her fault for tormenting Sansa in this way. She pulled back and stared at the dagger that she'd plunged into Sansa herself. Margaery slowly took it out, knowing that the act wouldn't be painful for Sansa but acting like it was anyway. A scar formed on Sansa's stomach, deep and red and all Margery's fault.

She sighed and stared at the dagger. In its intricate flowery design was Joffrey Baratheon's name, the holder of the other dagger. Anger filled her again and she snapped the blade, letting it dissolve like sand. The blade in Joffrey too would wither away, and finally Sansa could be free of him.

Free, but not happy.

Margaery walked to the bathroom, locking the door and turning on the lights. Her face wasn't reflected in the mirror, because she wasn't really there but the sight hadn't jarred her like it did the first time. With a sigh and a snap, her work uniform faded away and a tight blue dress fell into place. With another snap, Sansa's old bomber jacket fell on her shoulders too. Margaery hummed happily and exited the washroom then made her way back to Sansa.

"Hey," she smiled.

Sansa looked up, the bruise on her cheek was poorly hidden under layers of make-up and her eyes were dark with sadness. She squinted a bit as she tried to recognize who this woman was.

"Margret?" She asked, lighting up at the thought.

Margaery nodded, taking off Sansa's jacket and handing it back to her. "I came to give this back to you."

Sansa bit her lip, setting down her glass of water to take the jacket back and put it on.

The stood in silence until Sansa spoke up again, "how are your brothers? Lorax and Gargles and William?"

Margaery winced, "you remember that?"

"Yeah," Sansa flushed, "how could I forget?"

Margaery smiled, reached out to tuck a strand of Sansa's hair behind her ears, fingers ghosting over the bruise. Sansa shivered at the contact, but managed to look Margaery in the eyes.

"I didn't think I'd see you again," she admitted, "I should have got your phone number or something. To thank you."

Sansa turned, facing Margaery. She was less energetic, less carefree than the girl Margaery knew before. This was a girl now that wouldn't dare speak out of turn. A girl who'd been hurt.

And it was all Margaery's fault.

"I'm sorry," Sansa mumbled, and Margaery's felt her heart sink. She was the one that should have been apologizing.

Margaery shook her head, "don't be sorry. It's fine. I travel a lot and keeping contact would have been...Well, you don't need to thank me at any rate, sweetling."

"I do," Sansa said earnestly, "you made a bad day really good."

Margaery smiled at that. That day, it hadn't felt like she'd really done anything at all, besides the whole business with the daggers and the failed matchmaking.

Margaery reached out, slowly placing her hand on Sansa's cheek. "You don't deserve bad days," she replied honestly, "anyone can see that."

Sansa smiled, but she looked like she didn't believe a word that was leaving Margaery's mouth.

To emphasize the point, Margaery leaned in, pressing a soft kiss imbued with magic to Sansa's bruise. Slowly, the damage healed and all that was left was the faint mark of Margaery's lipstick.

Sansa flushed and smiled reluctantly, looking into Margaery's eyes with desperation. She was begging for something, pleasing in silence, but Margaery's didn't know for what.

"Sansa!" A man approached them, his curly dark hair bouncing around as she walked. He looked sad, but not in the way Sansa did, he looked almost as though he was meant to look sad. As if that was just how his face was, "Robb wants to know when you want to leave."

"Not yet, Jon," Sansa bit her lip, glancing over at Margaery, "not right now."

"Okay," he shrugged, following Sansa's gaze to Margaery. "Are you Sansa's friend?"

Margaery smiled, "Yes, Margret Tyrene." Oh gods, how she hoped she'd never have to use that stupid fake name again.

The man nodded, "I'm Jon Snow, Sansa's cousin."

Margaery resisted the urge to tell him that she knew that already.

Jon turned back to Sansa, talking about something that held little interest for Margaery's, and so she couldn't help that her eyes and ears began to wonder.

In the opposite corner, she spotted a tall man with blonde hair shorter than Jon's, but still long on its own. He looked muscular, and had a handsome face and crooked smile. He talked with a certain charisma that made people around him listen, and he looked, far more than Joffrey ever did, like a prince. And as if fate wanted it, he'd been looking at Sansa with interest all evening.

Margaery smiled, then she turned back to Sansa and she smiled again.

She'd fix this. Then Sansa would be happy and Margaery wouldn't have to live with the fact that she'd tarnished her perfect record by creating a bond that failed. She'd never be able to live that down.

Margaery slipped away, hiding behind a wall so she could snap again and have her dress turn it on her uniform. With another snap, she concealed herself and stepped back into the party.

Jon was gone now and Sansa looked around panicked, no doubt trying to find 'Margret'. She looked sad again but Margaery knew better than to dwell on that.

She rushed forward, materializing two daggers and plunging it just below Sansa's chest, but above where she'd put Joffrey's dagger (and now a large scar that only she could see). In another swift and graceful movement, she turned to the princely man and plunged the other dagger into him.

Within minutes, he bid his little crown goodbye and moved to Sansa, who looked up at him warily.

He smiled wide, outstretching his hand in a courteous manner, "Hello. My name is Jaime Lannister. Welcome to my party."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnd that's the end of the Joffrey Arc. It's probably the longest arc that isn't the Margery one. Next up is Jamie Lannister :') from here on, the other Arcs should be a lot shorter (one chapter each). Oh boy, these were some expositiony chapters.


	4. Jaime

"You matched her up with someone else?"

"Yes."

"Right after you broke a bond?"

"Yes."

Loras stared at his sister with wide-eyes, unable to wrap his head around the fact that Margaery didn't think all of this was a horrible idea. "Do you even know anything about the guy?"

Margaery nodded, "his name is Jaime Lannister and he's older than her and almost done university. He plays football and is going to become a police officer. He comes from a family of very rich politicians and businessmen but he's always liked the idea of being a police officer more than following his family." She got it out all at once, like she scripted the whole thing. 

"And are you sure that they'd be a good match?" Loras was reluctant to see the benefit of it. When his sister came over screaming about how she had good news, he thought she meant that she'd grown a particularly nice flower…not _this_.

"Of course," Margaery puffed her chest out, "he's princely and a gentleman and that's what Sansa wants."

"She's 19!" Loras shouted incredulously, "no one knows what they want at 19!"

"I did," Margaery pouted. She, of course, had her whole life planned at 10.

Loras rolled his eyes, "besides you. I thought I still liked girls at 19."

"You might have, but everyone else knew," Margaery smirked as Loras flushed. "So," she began again, "what's your point? That she might be gay?"

"Maybe," Loras sighed, leaning back into his seat, "you don't even know. You haven't checked. You haven't checked anything."

Margaery scrunched up her nose, "I don't have to." And she didn't. She hadn't in the decades that she'd been doing this job and everything always turns out well enough. She wasn't going to start now even if she wanted to.

But Loras wasn't having it. He knew his sister, and he knew just how arrogant and stubborn she could be. "You're trying to make love matches for this girl," he said, "and you're doing it the same way that you make non-love matches."

Margaery shrugged, "aren't they the same? She wants a prince, I gave her a prince. She's going to be happy."

"True love doesn't work like that."

"True love doesn't exist."

Loras sighed, "you can't be trying to get this girl into a happy and loved-filled union when you don't even believe in it."

Margaery groaned, "and you're the expert because you're in-love?"

Loras was unlike his sister. While she valued practicality, he was a romantic. Her unions might have been good for children or money or power, but his were true. They took longer, but they were worth it. He'd focus on one person, and spend days, months, years even, to find their soulmate. He travelled all over the world, put a little bit of himself into ever matched. He cared about where these people ended. Margaery didn't.

Except now she seemed to care about this Sansa, but Loras wasn't even sure of that. Maybe she just wanted to make up for her mistake and go back to being the perfect cupid that everyone thought she was. Well, what did he know? Margaery was always a hard read and an expert liar.

But for as smart as she was, she was a real idiot.

"No," Loras shook his head, "I mean it takes more care than that. I mean that you need to think about it."

Margaery sipped the wine in her hand slowly—human wine in a human glass because Loras insisted. "We'll have to see then."

*********

Margaery was excited to prove Loras wrong. She teleported back to her room and bolted to the orb. With a tap, Sansa and Jaime's bodies showed up. They were twisted together, kissing and touching. His hand was on her thigh as her hands were gripping his hair in desperation.

Margaery smirked and shut the orb off.

She was going to tell Loras all about how wrong he was.

_Except maybe he wasn't._

The next day, Margaery checked them again. Loras words had sparked a panic in her and she was worried that she'd ruined Sansa's life again.

And there they were, holding hands and buying condoms. Then there they were, making out in Jaime's car, as if they were too impatient to get home.

Margaery valued privacy—or she valued it as much as someone with the ability to spy on other could. And so, she shut off her orb with a huff and went about her daily activities.

When she checked again, days later, they were naked and in bed. Kissing wildly and urgently like they were going to die.

Margaery sighed. This was the honeymoon phase, right? She remembered that from her training. Eventually, they'd stop just having sex all the time.

They had to.

_But they didn't._

Margaery checked again, weeks later. More sex.

And again, a month later this time, more sex.

Once more, it had been a whole year, and there was no sex (thank the gods) this time but Sansa sat in Jaime's apartment half-naked reading a book. That is, until Jaine came back and he said something about how hungry he was and the he leaned down, peppering kisses along Sansa's body until his head was in between—

Margaery flushed and turned the orb off again.

Maybe it was natural. It had to be. Neither of them looked sad but…they weren't happy either.

She almost didn't dare to check the orb again but felt like she had to, it had been a year and a couple of months now. Sansa was 20 and even more beautiful, as if that was somehow possible.

The orb flickered to life, illuminating as Sansa and Jaime appeared.

"–my girlfriend." He sighed, running a hand through his blonde hair. Neither of them looked pleased, but Margaery was happy that they were at least clothed.

"Really?" Sansa asked, crossing her arms.

"Yes," Jaime tensed, "well, we don't like each other but I can't bring you to my parent's dinner and call you my fuck buddy."

"You could," Sansa sighed, "at least it would be more accurate. Besides, I don't even know your parent's name. I didn't even know you had a sister until two days ago."

Jaime stepped closer to Sansa, "we don't need to know anything about each other to have sex, of course."

But you did if you wanted a relationship.

Margaery sat back as the sounds of Jaime and Sansa's fight tore through her room. It was clear they didn't like each other, and it was clear that they didn't want to like each other.

It was just sex, it had always been just that to them.

It was not happy. It was not love-filled.

Loras was right.

Eventually, Sansa agreed to attend the diner a d Margaery shut off the orb, unable to see anymore.

She checked in again a couple of months later, Sansa was 21 now but the nature of her relationship with Jaime hadn't changed. She had though, and she looked even more miserable than before. Margaery hadn't noticed then, but Sansa barely enjoyed the sex in the first place.

Margaery gulped, she hated herself right now. Hated how wrong she was and hated how she was torturing Sansa.

*********

She found Sansa easy enough, she was at some dingy bar staring into her glass of whiskey.

Margaery wasted no time pulling out the knife and snapping it. A scar formed but Sansa looked happy as Jaime called her to tell her that this wasn't working, and that he wanted to see other people.

She said that she wanted to see other people too, and looked right at Margaery as she said it—which wasn't true, of course, Margaery knew that. She was invisible.

_Sansa couldn't see her._

As she debated it in her head an older man slipped next to Sansa. He smiled wide at her, his eyes filled with a type of lust that Margaery was no stranger to seeing. He didn't care that he was much older than Sansa, he still came on as strong as any young man would. Sansa seemed to like the attention, or rather, she savoured the distraction.

Margaery materialized two daggers again, but quickly put them away.

She wouldn't make that mistake again.

The man said his name was Petyr Baelish.


	5. Petyr 1

Loras’s wedding was set in the summer, and Margaery sat through all the painful preparations. Cake tasting. Wine tasting. _Gods_ , Margaery had even tasted the venue, as if that mattered. The flowers, of course, had to be perfect and that was the only part that Margaery liked helping with.

It wasn’t that she disliked weddings, it was the exact opposite, really. Weddings in The Reach were serious, and divorce was a forbidden there. Marriages were sacred and important unions, which is why Loras had been so reluctant to agree to marry Renly for so long now. He couldn’t help but to worry that Renly might tire of him one day, or that he’d want a divorce. Loras had already risked so much by being with Renly, he couldn’t bear being the disappointment again by getting divorced. He wanted to prove that him and Renly were a real couple. Marriage was important to him beyond words, just as it was to Margaery.

But, it was one thing to be getting married yourself and another to have to deal with your brother’s constant anxiety over it.

When it was finally time for the wedding, Margaery cried tears of relief.

The were getting married in some rustic barn (Renly’s choice) on a large and beautiful vineyard (Loras’s choice) while they wore old tuxedos (this was the constricting budget’s choice). Margery was the maid-of-honour, or Loras’s best (wo)man, Margaery wasn’t sure of her own title. As the two said their vows, Margaery felt herself cry. She clapped the loudest.

She may not have believed in true love, but Renly and Loras made it seem possible.

*********

“Loras,” Margaery threw her arms around her brother, pulling him in for the tightest hug that he has ever gotten.

“Oh!” He laughed, trying to pry his sister off him, “I actually wanted to introduce you to someone.”

Margaery pulled back, eyebrow raised, “Really?”

“Really,” he smiled, her turned around to gesture at the girl behind him.

Margaery’s breath caught in her throat. Before her stood Sansa Stark, tall and pretty like she always was. She was smiling shyly but as her eyes met Margaery’s she lit up.

“Margret?” She looked happy and torn at the same time.

“Uh, no,” Loras coughed, “This is Margaery Tyrell, my sister.”

Margaery flushed, remembering that stupid fake name that she’d given Sansa. Loras didn’t know about it, so it wasn’t his fault for blowing her cover. Well, she’d just have to work with it. “It’s nice to meet you…”

“Sansa Stark,” Sansa perked up, flushing. The scars on her body, the ones Margaery had left, looked like they were taunting her. “Sorry,” Sansa rubbed the back of her head, “I thought you were someone else.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Sansa,” Margaery smiled, “But I do need to speak with my brother. Perhaps I’ll see you on the dancefloor?”

“Oh,” Sansa squeaked, flushed deeply, “I don’t really dance.” She shook her head, “But I’ll see you around.” And went to join her brothers as the chatted with Renly.

“What is she doing here?” Margaery spat, gripping her brother’s arm tightly.

“Her father is a very close friend of Robert’s, Renly’s brother, and Robert wouldn’t come without him,” Loras wondered if his arm would bruise once Margaery was done hurting it, “And Eddard wouldn’t come without his kids.”

“Is Joffrey here?”

“No.”

“Why did you introduce us?”

Loras smiled at that, “I think you should get to actually know her. That way, your next match for her won’t be a failure that you come crying to me about.”

“I didn’t cry,” Margaery paused, releasing her brother’s arm from her grip, “We’ve already met before.”

“What?” Loras blinked, “You never told me.”

Margaery grimaced, “No, because it didn’t seem important. I told her my name was Margret Tyrene.”

“Wow, so original,” Loras rolled his eyes, laughing. “Did you tell her about me?”

“She thinks Margret Tyrene has three brothers named Gargles, Lorax and William.”

Loras frowned, “Why does Willas get a regular name?”

“I was under pressure!” Margaery huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “At any rate, you had no business blowing my cover like that.”

“To be fair, I didn’t even know you had a cover that I could blow,” he glanced over at Sansa, who had been shyly looking back this way until her eyes met Margaery’s and she snapped her gaze immediately back to her brother Robb, “I think this would be good for the both of you.” He smiled as Margaery frowned at him.

Loras flicked his gaze back to Sansa, “She came with some man, he was her plus one. Her parents don’t approve of him, but Sansa is really clinging to the guy.”

“Who’s the guy?” Margaery looked up at Loras, who turned back to his sister to gesture to a man standing by Sansa’s mother.

“Petyr Baelish,” he said calmly, “but I don’t think he’s a good match for her.”

As Margaery looked at him, she saw a smart man. She saw cunning and a type of ruthless ambition that was rare now. He would be a good match, Margaery decided, because he was the type of man who knew how to take care of someone, just as much as he was the type of man who knew how to ruin someone. “Really?” Margaery snapped her attention back to her brother, “I think he’s fine.”

Loras sighed, “Please, Margaery. Think these things through.”

Margaery narrowed her eyes, “I do think them through. You just don’t like how I think.” There was a burning desire in her to make sure that Sansa was happy, over the past few years, it had developed into an almost obsession. But she didn’t want to get into this with her brother again, and especially not on his wedding day, “Did you see Garlan and Willas?”

Loras shook his head, “Not since the ceremony ended. Garlan is with his wife probably. Willas is with his books, which may as well be his wife.”

“Grandmother says that she’s sorry that she couldn’t make it,” Margaery began, trying to scan the crowd for one of her other brothers, “She had cupid management business to take care of.”

Loras scoffed, “Sure.” The lack of presence from his grandmother had hurt him, but he was tired of letting his grandmother’s prejudice hit him. “It’s fine, Marg. You don’t need to make excuses for her.”

“I’m not making it up,” Margaery sighed, “She wanted to come. She cares.”

“Then why isn’t she here?”

Margaery flinched, “I don’t know.”

*********

Margaery gravitated to Sansa almost naturally as the party droned on, like a moth to the flame. Sansa—bright and cheerful—seemed to be enjoying Margaery’s company. Or, she was a far better liar than Margaery had originally pegged her to be.

“—and Willas set the library on fire, all because of this spider.”

Sansa laughed, a contagious and radiant sound, “And the spider?”

Margaery laughed along with Sansa, remembering the day like it was yesterday, despite the fact that it happened 50 years ago. “Turns out,” Margaery sipped her wine, “that it was just a piece of fabric that he _swore_ looked like a spider.”

“The happens to me all the time,” Sansa admitted, “I always think that some black thing on the floor is a spider, when it’s really just a raisin.”

“And are raisins on floor a typical occurrence in your house?”

Sansa laughed and gestured to her sister, Ayra, “She’s always leaving little bits of food on the floor. The dogs usually get it.”

“Sansa?”

They both snapped up at the source of the voice, Margaery with utter disdain to be tore out of her conversation with Sansa, and Sansa with genuine surprise.

“Oh,” she smiled, “Hello, Mr. Baelish.”

“Petyr is fine, Sansa. I am your plus one, after all.” He grinned, gesturing to a seat by Margaery and Sansa, “May I?”

Sansa nodded for Margaery.

“And who is this?” He reached for his own glass of wine and leaned back. He was in his element, Margaery could tell. She noticed a lot of similarities between him and herself. The way his eyes were constantly scanning and scheming, for instance.

“Margaery Tyrell, Loras’s sister,” she extended her hand and he took it and kissed the back of it before she could politely pull it back.

“A pleasure, Ms. Tyrell,” He smiled, sizing Margaery up with his gaze.

“Margaery is fine, Petyr. You are Sansa’s plus one, after all,” Margaery returned his gaze, mimicking him to show that she would not falter. She reached out to put her hand around Sansa’s shoulder and pull her close.

She would not make the same mistake again.

Sansa flushed, “Petyr’s just my plus one because my mother wouldn’t let him come.”

“She forgets that I’m as much a friend of the Baratheons as she and her husband are,” Petyr tensed and Margaery and Sansa’s closeness. The angel could tell that the man wanted Sansa, but to what end and in what way, Margaery did not know. There was more to Petyr, there always was.

“I see,” Margaery said, and the air filled with a tension that left Sansa confused.

“Margaery,” Petyr broke the silence first, “Might I have this dance with you?”

“Yes, you may.” Margaery offered him a tight smile, getting up to take his hand and let him lead her to the dancefloor. The song was slow, and the dancefloor was rather empty now, filled only with couples that wanted to share this dance.

“So, you’re Sansa’s friend?” He whispered into her ear, voice thick with some kind of secret agenda.

“You’re Sansa’s plus one?” Margaery retorted, her voice heavy with a plan of her own as well.

Petyr smiled, his breath tickling Margaery’s bare shoulder in a way that annoyed her. He was a good dancer at least. For that, Margaery was a little thankful. “I won’t hide my intentions to take her out and I don’t wish to step on your toes.”

“Sansa and I are not dating,” Margaery glanced over at Sansa, who was sitting and waiting patiently for them to finish dancing.

He laughed, “Are you sure about that? I gathered a different impression. I don’t want you to end up like me.” Margaery looked at him, confused, but he simply continued talking. “Sansa is a lot like her mother.”

“I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting Catelyn, yet.” Margaery paused, “the song is ending soon.”

“Then, I’ll be quick. Since you’re not dating her, I’d like to ask her out for a date.”

“Aren’t you a little old for her?” Margaery asked, as if age was ever a matter to her.

“Aren’t you?” He retorted with a smile and Margaery tensed. She was, after all, several years older than Sansa and Petyr both. But there was no way that Petyr could have known that.

_Right?_

“Well,” Margaery started again, ignoring him, “I don’t see why you need to ask me for permission.”

Petyr smiled, “I know a lot of things, Margaery. I know that if you didn’t approve of my dating of Sansa, you would be able to ruin it easily...”

Margaery looked up at him, “Just as easily as I could help you.” She completed his train of thought, “How did you know?”

“Know what?” Petyr smiled, and Margaery found herself smiling too. He was similar to her, after all, smart and cunning.

“I won’t stop you, Petyr.”

Someone cunning and smart was what Sansa needed. Sansa needed someone who would wasn’t afraid to get dirty for her.

Someone like Petyr, maybe.

He smiled at Margaery again, this time, genuinely. “Sansa really is so much like her mother, don’t you think?”

Margaery couldn’t agree with that, but she’d already plunged a dagger into his stomach before she could read too far into it.

In another moment, the other knife was in Sansa’s body, which already bared two scars. Margaery was not religious, but she prayed this that would work.

All she wanted was for Sansa to be happy.


	6. Petyr 2

Margaery doesn’t make the same mistake she did with Joffrey, she watches this time. Every day, every moment that she can. Whether on earth or in her room, she makes _sure_ that Sansa is happy. She doesn’t have the luxury of realizing how intrusive she’s being, she can’t. Sansa’s happiness is on the line, and Margaery has to make sure. She just has to.

Petyr is gentle, although strange. He showers Sansa with presents, takes her out on fancy dates and lets her hold his arm in public. But he does not call her his girlfriend, he does not touch or kiss her.

It’s not Sansa, that he’s in-love with, but Sansa is the best alternative that he can get. Margaery realizes that he’s right, Sansa is a lot like her mother, but they’re not the same person and even Petyr knows that. His eyes were always on Catelyn Tully, not Sansa Stark.

He observes too, just like Margaery, but for a different reason. He brings girls home for Sansa to bed as he sits and watches them. He never brings home another man for Sansa and Margaery feels sick suddenly. Sick at the knowledge that Petyr would notice something that Margaery had been missing for years:

Sansa does not like men.

Or, at least, she seems to like women so much more. She lights up at their touches, moans genuinely, kisses them deeply. Margaery hates herself for missing this, for giving her Joffrey and Jaime and even Petyr now.

Sansa does not deserve this. Petyr may be generous, he may be kinder than Joffrey or Jamie, but he is not what Sansa deserves.

Sansa, Margaery decides, does not deserve a passionless and loveless union. She does not deserve to be used for what ever Petyr wants. Sansa deserves more. She might have been happy with Petyr, might have been content with spending his life with him but Margaery couldn't bear it and she especially couldn't decide why. She'd made matches like this before, beneficial but loveless. But she couldn't have it now. For some reason, she wanted to see Sansa light up with happiness. She wanted to see her in one of those fairytale romances.

Margaery did not believe in true love, but she wanted that for Sansa more than anything. 

And she didn't know why.

*********

“Margaery!” Sansa perks up at the sight of the angel, she doesn’t stop to question what she might be doing at her university, she doesn’t care. Sansa is 23 now, and she’s learned to stop being so curious about the world. The world, as she knows it, is a cruel and dull place.

Margaery stepped closer, eager to see Sansa to but stopped abruptly in her tracks. Sansa was different. What was once a bright pink romantic aura, then a dull one after Joffrey, was now gone.

 _Gone_.

Margaery gulped. She was the one to blame for that. The one who had made Sansa stop believing in love. Gods, how Margaery wished she could just take it all back and be the one to make Sansa happy instead. 

Sansa did not deserve this.

“Sansa,” she breathed, moving closer. Margaery looked at the group Sansa was with, faces that she did not recognize, and nodded at them, “I need to take our sweet Sansa away for a moment, is that okay?”

“Oh,” one of the girls pipped in while the others giggled amongst themselves, “We were just going to go.”

Margaery nodded again as Sansa’s group of friends dispersed, leaving them alone.

“What are you doing here?” Sansa asked, not knowing what else to say.

“Your brother told me you’d be here,” Margaery lied, “I wanted to see you.” That part, however, was not a lie.

Sansa flushed, not knowing what to say again. This time, she decided to say nothing.

Margaery pulled Sansa into a hug, desperately needing to after the time they’d spent apart. As she did, she pulled the knife out of Sansa and snapped it again. Hating how many times she’d done that. Just as much as Sansa didn’t deserve Petyr, she didn’t deserve such an incompetent cupid either. A real failure of a matchmaker.

Another scar formed over her body; red, hot and screaming. Sansa shivered in Margaery’s arms and the angel reacted by holding her closer. She still smelled wonderfully of vanilla and sandalwood. Like the forest and flowers, like everything Margaery loved.  

“I wanted to call you,” Sansa mumbled, not really meaning for Margaery to hear but not caring if she did anyway, “but I’ve been so scared.”

“Sansa!” Someone called out, voice raspy but still distinctly feminine. Margaery was slowly starting to hate how often that happened, how often someone interrupted the two of them.

Sansa jumped back, pushing Margaery away as she flushed. “Y-Ygritte!”

Margaery turned to see the woman, with red-hair brighter than Sansa’s and light skin covered in freckles. She smiled wide and crooked. Her hands looked rough and her hair was a wild mess.

Sansa flushed as she looked at her, filled with a type of lust that Margaery had never seen in Sansa’s eyes before. Ygritte was beautiful, after all, it came as now surprise that Sansa seemed to think so too.

Ygritte stepped forward to pull Sansa into a tight hug, “missed ya!” She tried to spin Sansa in her arms, but was ultimately too weak to do it.

Sansa flushed deeper, “Ygritte! You’re embarrassing me!” Though she said it like she’d been insulted, Sansa looked happy.

Ygritte, it seemed, might just have been what Sansa deserved. She had to be. If Margaery had to turn on that orb again and see a miserable Sansa reflected, she was going to cry (not that she hadn’t already cried several times for Sansa, but that was besides the point). Margaery was running out of options and getting very desperate.

Ygritte seemed like a nice girl and they were already friends, what could go wrong?


	7. Ygritte

“Love sucks,” Ygritte starts. Somehow, they’d decided to sit down at some café inside the school. Margaery wants to ask what Ygritte is studying, because it doesn’t seem like she’s really a student at all, but refrains.

There are two daggers in Margaery’s hands again, hidden by magic. She’s thinking of stabbing one into Ygritte and gently pushing the other into Sansa, but waits for now. Maybe Ygritte is already married, or poor or maybe her feet smell.

“What do you mean?” Sansa asks, sipping at her iced coffee.

“It’s like cupid has a knife, you know,” Ygritte huffs.

Margaery glances down at the blades in her hands.

Ygritte continues, “Fallin’ in love is a lot like getting stabbed.”

To that, Margaery smirks. Of course, Ygritte has no idea of how right she is.

“Are you in love, Ygritte?” Sansa asks with a little laugh. Her face is flushed at the idea of being in love and she glances over at Margaery quickly, like she has a secret to share, before Ygritte can speak up.

Ygritte flushes too, but not like Sansa does. Ygritte’s embarrassment is angry and full, her face reddens as her hair flies up. She looks like she’s been insulted, and she looks like she’s going to break something. Sansa doesn’t look like that when she flushes, she looks like a little girl when she does; sweet-faced and innocent. She looks like she doesn’t believe it, like there’s no way that anyone would say anything so nice to her.

“I’m just sayin’,” Ygritte coughs, “that fallin’ in love sucks. It’s like you’ve been stabbed, and something is twistin’ the knife. It’s like—it’s like,” Ygritte struggles to find the words, flailing her arms around as if they might come to her that way, “it’s like you’re bleedin’ and everything is raw and vulnerable. It’s like you can’t sleep, because it’s all you think about. It’s like…”

“It’s like you’d do anything for it. Anything to hold on, or anything for them. You’ve forgotten yourself.” Margaery continues for Ygritte. Something inside her twists, her body feels cold and her brain slows. She recognizes this, this _thing_ that Ygritte is talking about. She’s felt it to, but she pushes it away. Margaery doesn’t want to feel it. She doesn’t want to relate.

“Yeah,” Ygritte mumbles, “Like that. Exactly like that. It sucks.”

Sansa cocks her head to the side, “I don’t know. I think love can be sweet, just as much as it hurts. When you think of the person you love and they help you through the bad times.”

Ygritte blinks at her friend, “are _you_ in love?” She asks with a smirk and Sansa flushes deep, turning her body away from Margaery just a bit.

“Once,” she admits, “but I don’t know anymore.”

The marks on Sansa’s body glow. They are red and the hover near her. They taunt Margaery, who is the only one here who can see them. They are dark and they threaten to consume Sansa in their fury. Guilt runs through Margaery as she looks at them. She doesn’t want to look at them any more so she turns her gaze back Ygritte.

Ygritte looks at Sansa and they share a look of knowing, with flushed faces and shy smiles. They are close, Margaery can tell.

With a sad smile, she sticks one knife into Sansa’s side. She leans over the table, pretending to grab the salt by Ygritte but stabs the other knife into her as she does.

She doesn’t know why, but she feels sick.

**********

Ygritte and Sansa get along well while Margaery keeps quiet. She sips her tea slowly, and with no interest. It’s gotten cold, but she doesn’t care. Neither Ygritte or Sansa notice that Margaery hasn’t said a word. It’s like she’s not there, except she knows that she is, because when she reached out to get a tissue, Ygritte smiled and got it for her.

It’s painful to watch, and something nasty and selfish brews inside of Margaery. She wants to pull Sansa away from Ygritte, she wants her to stop smiling so wide for her, to stop laughing so warmly for her, to stop looking at her.

They are still friends, but the love-daggers that Margaery put into them stand out. Eventually, one day, they will take the plunge and become something else. The daggers, of course, do not make people fall in love. It only ensures that they stay together for the rest of their lives, until a cupid breaks their bond. Maybe they won’t be lovers at all, maybe they’d just stay friends for the rest of their lives, Margaery doesn’t know.

But as she sees them flushes and talking about how pretty the other’s hair is, she doubts it.

Love hurts, she thinks, even though she isn’t sure why she’s even thinking that in the first place.

Something dark and selfish brews in Margaery, and it stays there. A part of her is happy to see Sansa like this, a part of her feel goods about a job well done. A part of her feels like she can finally wash away the guilt of the red and screaming marks that she left on Sansa’s love-life. But another part of Margaery hates it. Another part of her shouts, cries and demands to be seen.

Another part of her want to pull that knife out and snap it. That part is dark and selfish, but it grips her tight and it’s all she can think about as she stares at Sansa and Ygritte.

All she wanted was to see that bright 17-year-old girl that she knew, the one that stood out in the rain and waited. The one that was filled with hope and love and ate lemoncakes and laughed. But now that she had her; the hints of a younger, more carefree, Sansa shining through her bitter 23 year-old-self, Maragery is in pain. She wanted it, but she can barely face that she’s not the one who gets to see it

Her eyes water, no one notices.

Jon comes by later, he works here as security, apparently. Ygritte flushes and lights up when she sees him, her words become a little louder and a little harsher. Sansa smiles and nudges Ygritte with a knowing elbow. Jon looks at Ygritte with a flush too, his typically sad-face radiates a bit.

Margaery recognizes it instantly as love.

Without thinking about it, listening to that dark and selfish screaming inside her, she pulled the knife out of Sansa and snaps in. She doesn’t look at her, but she can feel another scar forming; hot and overwhelming. Margaery can’t breathe, but she does Ygritte and Job a favour. She makes two more daggers and puts one in Ygritte and the other in Jon.

She looks over at Sansa, who is frowning. There are four bright and ugly scars on her, shining and evil.

Margaery can’t breathe.

“I’m so sorry, Sansa,” she mumbles, looking at Sansa desperately and Ygritte and Jon talk animatedly at a different table now.

Sansa looks at her and smiles, “What for?”

The romantic aura is gone. The scars are bright. Sansa eyes are dark and tired. Her heart is heavy and her mind is filled with insecurity.

Margaery still thinks she’s the most beautiful person that she’s ever seen, she’s always thought that.

The angel grimaces, “Nothing. I mean, I have to go. My brother wants to see me.”

Sansa nods with acceptance, she looks like she’s used to people leaving her. Margaery doesn’t want her to be. But it’s all her fault that she is.

**********

Loras sighs, he’s known his sister for dozens of years but he’s never known her to do something this stupid before. “You could have just left it. You _should_ have just left it.”

“Ygritte liked someone else,” Margaery is nervous. She’d led her brother drag her to this small gathering, some sort of holiday party (Margaery can’t be bothered to remember all the human holidays, there’s a turkey and lots of orange and that’s all Margaery needs to know). Sansa is here. And so are the other Starks and their friends. Ygritte is here too. It’s been a couple of days since Margaery has last seen Ygritte and Jon, but they’re already dating and happy.

“So?” Loras is livid, his hands are moving quickly as he talks, “they could have fallen in love later and lived happily! You’re ruining Sansa’s life all!”

Margaery snaps her attention to her brother, “What do you know?” She growls, “I’m trying to do what’s best for Sansa.”

“No, you’re not,” he growls back, angry and tired with his sister. “If you were trying to do what’s best for her then you would have taken the time to find her soulmate.”

“Soulmates don’t ex-”

Loras lifts his finger up, silencing his sister. “No. Don’t you dare start with that. You can’t say that when all you’ve been trying to do is give Sansa a true romance. You can’t say that when you tore Ygritte away from her because Ygritte is in love with Jon. You can’t say that when you don’t even believe it anymore.”

Margaery gulps. Even she understands that her brother is a little right (well, more like a lot right, but she doesn’t want to admit it).

“What about that girl?” Margaery points to a tall blond with a muscular build standing awkwardly by the TV. She wants to change the topic, and Loras sighs and lets her, for awhile.

“Okay,” he rolls his eyes, “take out the ‘gaydar’ and check.”

“The what?”

Loras groans, “your gadget! The one that checks the sexuality.”

Margaery nods and pulls out her phone. Years ago, when they wanted to use a device like this, they had to bring the whole clunky thing with them. These days, they can just use a handy ‘app’ and it’s the only think that Margaery likes about the modern age.

She presses a multi-coloured icon and points it at the girl. It glows blue.

“Straight,” Loras smirks.

“Well, let me try-”

“No,” he interjects again, “You’re not avoiding this, Margaery.”

“Well what am I supposed to do?” Margaery pleas, putting her phone away. “I just wanted Sansa to be happy. That’s it. It’s not my fault that all these people are…”

“Are what?”

“I don’t know!” Margaery throws up her hands in frustration, “They’re not good enough! They don’t know how to make Sansa happy.”

Loras looks at her, there’s a glint in his eyes, something that Margaery doesn’t recognize. “And you do?”

Margaery takes a second to think about it. “Yes,” she answers, breathy and unsure, “I know that I’d do anything to make her happy. I know that I’d do a good job of it too. I just-I just want to try to. And I actually _like_ her so it-”

“Ha!” Loras pokes Margaery’s cheek, “Say that last part again.”

Margaery flushes, “Sansa is beautiful, and kind and smart and sweet and when she’s nervous she bites her lip down and it’s..” she pauses, “I do like her, a little, I think. I feel bad for her, mostly. It’s all my fault that she’s so…she should be happy and she’s not. And it’s my fault.”

“Then why don’t you be the one to date her, Margaery? If you think you’d do such a good job,” the glint is back in Loras’s eyes. He plays into Margaery’s arrogance and goads her. He taunts her, telling her that maybe she’s _scared_ or really not that great of a lover at all. She eats it all up, partly because it works, but mostly because she just wants an excuse to agree to the idea she’s had in her mind for a while now.

“Maybe I will.”

The dark and selfish part of her wants to be the one to make Sansa happy. Maybe that part had always been there, maybe it had been the reason that Margaery was so fixated on giving Sansa the perfect partner in the first place, but it doesn’t matter.

The dark and selfish part wins.


	8. Margaery 1

When Margaery sets her mind on something, there is little that could stop her from getting it. She is too set in her ways, too full of pride to go back on her word, and far too ambitious to deny herself a prize.

Sansa Stark just so happened to have the misfortune of being the aim of Margaery's current ambitions.

It started six years ago when the angel first laid her eyes on an unhappy 17-year-old. She'd never seen someone so pretty, look so determined and pained. Of course, as Margaery got to know Sansa, she'd only become even more unhappy (which was, in part, Margaery's fault). Of course, she'd never stopped thinking about Sansa and just how much she must have ruined her life. Pity filled her. Or, at least, that's what Margaery told herself.

Maybe it _had_ been that way at first.

"Hello, Sansa," as with everything else, Margaery smiled.

_"I just feel so bad for her, and it's my fault anyway."_

_Loras groaned again, his frustration with his sister had only grown over the last few years. "That's no reason to date someone," he said, the words still echoing in Margaery's ears._  

What did he know?

And what's a couple of years of dating some human to an immortal?

Or does she want this truly?

Margaery's doesn't think about it, she doesn't want to. Some part of her knows the answer, the real answer, and she fears it.

"Hi," Sansa squeaked, she looked up at Margaery like this was the first time she had ever seen her. Eyes filled with wonder and disbelief. As if Margaery's wasn't real and right there and talking to her. She stared into her glass again, some juice that she's poured herself after Robb stopped talking to her to go socialize with some girl he's never seen before, but instantly liked.

"Quite a party," Margaery commented, taking a seat beside Sansa on one of the stools, "I've never been to one of these before."

It wasn't exactly any of the grand balls Margaery was used to, or even some of the drunken human college parties that she'd observed. It was intimate, and felt little like a party at all. Somehow, she liked it more. This dull, human world that lacked the delicate political intrigues of The Reach. It felt simpler here, and she understood what her grandmother meant when she said that humans were allowed luxuries that Margaery could never have.

Sansa found something about that funny, and she laughed a little to herself, "you've never been to a Thanksgiving gathering? Do you and your family not celebrate?"

"Is Thanksgiving the one where you fight over a turkey?" Margaery never bothered with human celebrations before, they'd evolved too much over the course of her life for her to keep up. She never liked to meddle with them, until now. Until this 'Thanksgiving' didn't look so boring after all. Until Sansa.

"Something like that," Sansa smiles; gentle and understanding, "so you don't celebrate where you're from?"

Margaret shakes her head, she tries to think of a good lie but everything about Sansa makes her want to be honest. Sansa herself is unknowingly honest-to-a-fault. "Not where I'm from, no. But Loras is more accustomed to these celebrations."

"Where _are_ your from? Loras says he grew up in the south, but he won't say more and he won't tell me about you," Sansa looks curious, genuinely. Not like she just wants to make conversation, which is how Margarey makes most of her conversations, but like she actually wants to know. Like her life will be better if she knows, and horrible if she is denied the truth.

Margaery cannot think of a good lie. Margaery; born liar and talented charmer, can not think of a lie to tell. Margaery, who prides herself on her talent for a certain kind of charisma, can not come up with a lie. It's almost funny, she thinks, but it's more sad than anything. She doesn't want to lie to Sansa, and the desire is so strong that she can not even try to.

So, she drags the conversation somewhere else.

"Your brother really likes that girl, doesn't he?" She gestures to Robb and his new friend.

"Maybe," Sansa shrugs, if she noticed the deflection, she is poliet enough not to draw attention back to it, "but it's not as gross as whatever Arya is doing with her boyfriend."

Margaery directed her gaze to the other female Stark child, watching her laugh loudly as a tall boy with short dark hair tries to eat as much cranberry sauce as he can with his hands. Arya's hands are already stained with the clumpy translucent red food, she's done this before.

Sansa turns up her nose at it, but there's a glint of love in her eyes, "she's so gross."

"Are you supposed to bring a date to this?" Margaery asks, there's a glint in her eyes too, one full of flirtation.

Sansa misses the glint, and looks sullen instead. "Kind of," she admits, "it's the time to introduce them to the family. Christmas is important to us, so only the serious dates make it that far."

An opening. "Did you bring anyone?"

"No," Sansa bites her lip, "I don't do that."

"Do what?"

Sansa looks at Margaery for a second, pleading with her eyes for the other woman to just let it go, but she doesn't. Sansa sighs and explains absently, "date. Not anymore."

Margaery wants to ask if that because if Joffrey and Jaime and Petyr—because of _her_ —but she swallows it back. Instead, she settles on: "you're too young to say that."

To which Sansa avoids Margery's eyes and sips her juice. "It's how I feel," she mumbles and then prays silently that Margaery didn't hear it.

Sansa doesn't want to talk anymore, so Margaery speaks up. "Can _I_ take you on a date?"

Sansa flushes, but refuses to look at Margaery. Like that day, six years ago, with Sansa's eyes glued to the road, she can't look at Margaery because she knows what will happen if she does. She'll give in, and she doesn't want to give in. Bad things happen when she gives in, and she's just so tired of bad things.

"You don't have to like it, or go on another date with me at all. We don't have to kiss, or have sex, or even touch if you don't want to. You're beautiful," she pauses, brushes a strand of Sansa's hair back, "and I want to take you on a date. All you have to do, is show up."

Sansa looks up, searching Margaery for some kind of lie or joke or piece of something that she's used to. But Margaery is a hard read.

And she's not lying.

"Okay," Sansa gulps, her voice is rocky and unsure, but she has just enough in her to be hopeful one last time, "just one date. That's it."

*********

The date comes slower than Margaery would have wanted, and parts of her even doubt that this is what Sansa wants. But there's a delicate game of courtship that needs to be played, and Margaery has always been fond of games. She had it planned out in her head, mechanically, each bit of their romance like it were a recipe. First Margaery does this, then Sansa reacts like this, then Margaery does this, and so on until Sansa is happy enough and Margaery can dump her. The worst case scenario is that she has to marry Sansa, and use magic to make it look like she's aging. But even then, that's simply a couple of wasted years off her immortal life.

It's nothing.

The plan for this date is simple: Margery gets Sansa just the right amount of tipsy (enough to be incrontol but not enough to stop herself from flushing and laughing) and takes her home, presenting her with roses. Then she'll kiss Sansa, and flirtatiously ask about that next date. It would be easy, and Margaery can picture Sansa blushing and biting her lip.

It's perfect.

And the perfect plan needs the perfect dress (a back dress with a plunging neckline and a skirt that stops just a little after her knees) and the perfect car (some fancy and expensive crap that she "borrowed", it's black and sleek and makes Margaery feel like James Bond).

Sansa steps out of her house exactly one minute after the time that they agreed to meet. Margaery is leaning against her car with a smirk, trying to act cool but for the first time in her life she feels her heart-skip at just the sight of someone else. Breathtaking suddenly seems like something very real and happening to her right now, rather than simply an exaggerated adjective.

Sansa is, to put it simply, breathtaking.

She's not wearing anything too fancy, or revealing, but it sets Margaery ablaze anyway. Sansa's dress is modest, but the side cut shows off her creamy-white legs wonderfully. Her hair is done up and all Margaery can think about it pressing her lips to Sansa's neck, and collar, and then all of her.

_Gods._

She's always known Sansa to be pretty but something in her delights with the knowledge that Sansa did this for _her_. Her hair is tied up and her dress is nice and her make-up is perfect for _her_. Something jumps at the thought that Sansa can be all her own.

Sansa's eyes drop to Margaery's chest as she nears her, Margaery thinks about getting out something clever and flirtatious about it—she even had it set up in her head—but she can't and flushes a shade of red that she's never turned before. Thinking about her date with Sansa and actually going on it are two seperate things, she realizes.

"You look wonderful," Margaery says and Sansa flushes at the honesty in her voice.

"You too," she responds, then shuts her mouth tight, as if she's afraid of what might leave it.

She forgets her perfect plan.

*********

Margaery takes her to a good restaurant with food that's something like Mediterranean, but on one can really place it. It feels European enough that it's often labelled as such in the human papers. But Margery, and a few others, _know_. This isn't just any restaurant, it's an angel restaurant. Something that might be found in The Reach, brought down to earth for any touring angels or cupids hungry from work.

The food is not Mediterranean or European or what ever word the people wanted to use, it is angelic. It is wines made from devine grapes or meats cut from animals that grazed on magical vegetation. It is rich and full and nothing Sansa could ever afford on her own.

But just like the store, Sansa is also special, and Margaery aimed to please.

Sansa is in awe. Everyone here knows Margaery, they call her _Lady_ Margaery (Sansa finds this funny, so she thinks about doing it too). Sometiems even, "your grace". When they look at Sansa, they don't stare at her like they should. Like they should when looking at someone so obviously underdressed and with someone so much better than her. They look at her like she is an equal.

They call her Lady Sansa.

It's silly, but Sansa loves it. She feels like a princess and when they finally get to their table (a beautiful thing in a private section of the restaurant out on the tarrrace with the most gorgeous view of the city), Sansa is a smiling mess.

"Margaery," she breathes, her seat is pulled out for her like she's someone special, and not just plain old Sansa Stark. "This place is…" she can't finish her sentence. Her eyes fall on to the menu, a black booklet brilliantly embroidered with golden roses. She opens it slowly, she doesn't recognize any of the food names, but there are no prices displayed beside any of the dishes. Only the really fancy places don't even bother with displaying prices, Sansa thinks.

"I know," Margaery responds and Sansa is sure that she doesn't _really_ know. "It's one of my favourite places to come." She wants to say _on earth_ but knows she can't. This is a place that stays the same over the years; on foreign soil, she feels at home.

Maybe, just a little bit, she wants to share her home with Sansa.

"We should order some Ambrosia," Margaery says, she hasn't touched her menu, she doesn't need to.

Sansa looks up at her wide-eyed, "that's not—that's—what is that?"

"The best wine you'll ever have," Margaery smiles, with a gentle hand she pushes down the menu in Sansa's hands. "Allow me to order for you." She doesn't ask, and maybe that's why Sansa finds herself nodding and letting Margaery have her way.

Not that Sansa minds at all.

The waiter comes over and before he can speak Margaery says something in a tongue Sansa has never heard before but instantly loves. The waiter nods and walks away, somehow, like he's not so charmed by Margaery. Not like how Sansa is.

It silly, and Sansa knows it. But she feels like a princess and she's always had this silly childhood dream to be one.

With Margarey, it feels like she can be.

"So, Sansa, I've just been dying to learn more about you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a bit late, next chapter will come finish the Margaery/Sansa date


	9. Margaery 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im so sorry this took so long! I got food poisoning and it was pretty bad :( But I'm back and ready to write! Sorry this one's a little short, but I just wanted to get it out! from sansa's perspective this time for...reasons ;);;);))));)

Some how, in some way, almost like magic, Sansa found herself talking. It felt like a repeat of all those other moments in her life, the ones that stung and dug into her mind. Yet, some how, in some way, this felt different.

"I used to do this stupid thing when I was younger," Sansa admits, the word 'stupid' leaves her mouth quick and quietly but she flinches at it just the same. "I would watch cars and make up stories. I've always been making up stories, ever since I was little."

There were words that did not leave her mouth. _I made stories about Joffrey and Jaime and Petyr. I even tried to make one for Ygritte_ , she wants to say. Stories are an escape, they'd always been. Whether they were her own or someone else's it didn't matter. Anything felt better than her reality.

Even then, Margaery felt like a story. Sansa felt her brain trying to weave something together. The beautiful brunette, the romantic rendezvous, the kind kiss; it all falls together in little pieces. Margaery will save her, Margaery would be kind (she  _had_ been kind), this time it would be like a story.

But it wouldn't be reality, and another narrative floods into Sansa's mind. One that says that Margaery doesn't like her, one that tells her that she will be alone and unloved forever. One that screams about how stupid Sansa is. It feels more realistic, almost, but Sansa recognizes it as just another story.

The reality, as it turns out, was that Sansa was unsure and afraid. The truth is that sometimes Sansa spends days doing nothing of interest. There is nothing romantic, meaningful or fancy, nothing that she can call a story. The truth, as it turns out, is always boring. 

But it fits together in little pieces too, it's a story in its own way but one both terrible and uninteresting. Life comes and goes, nothing in interesting about that. Nothing has ever felt interesting like that to Sansa before. Stories, at least, had some redeeming quality. Unlike her, unlike the truth.

Margaery raises an eyebrow up at her; the slow exposition. "It doesn't sound so stupid, Sansa."

"Really?" Sansa questions; the steady introduction to the starring cast.

"All people pretend they are somewhere else at some point," Margaery smiles; a setting, a plot, a winding expanse of possibilities in words.

Sansa flushes; the rising action. "Really?" She asks again; the predictable build-up.

Margaery opens her mouth to say something and Sansa can already tell it will be exactly what she wants to hear. Margaery, as Sansa had come to know, was never a woman who spoke her mind genuinely. She was playing some kind of game, and Sansa wasn't so naive as to be unable to tell. Still, she eats it all up. Margaery has that way about her. Sansa knows some of her words are lies, pretty things made to make Sansa like her but she can't stop herself from wanting them. So she waits patiently for Margaery to finish her though, a compliment, undoubtedly. Yet, Maragery does not.

"I do it." Margaery confesses in a quiet voice, before anything more can be said the waiter comes between them and places two perfect lemon cakes on their plates. It's the climax, Sansa thinks, the breaking point.

They both take the first bite in silence. The lemoncakes are the best she's ever had, but she knows in hours she'll forget the taste. It was odd how that worked, how things that were so amazing could be so easily forgotten. She'd never forget the bitterness saffron, but she'd fail to remember the sweetness of cake. It's the quick death of another story. This one ends too, but because Sansa wants it to. She doesn't want to be here anymore, in this tale that feels like a thousand stories that she'd already read. She's been here before; hopeful and across from a beautiful almost-friend. She doesn't want to be here again.

She knows how this story ends and she doesn't feel like she has the heart for another unsatisfying ending. 

Margaery tries to talk, she says more nice things but Sansa doesn't humor them. 

"It's getting late," she cuts in, Margaery looks at her like she's shattered something.

"Okay," the angel admits, "we're done eating now anyway, I suppose." It's the chilling conclusion; another story ended.

When in the cold and barren land of Winterfell, she told herself stories of the warm south. When the south turned out to be a frigid cruelty she told herself stories about finding salvation; about going home in some way,  _any way_. Now, here, she finds no stories to tell herself about her lukewarm life. She finds little comfort of stories that end in tragedy,

She's sick of it, sick of losing soulmates to whatever cruel fate there is. 

It's not Margaery's fault, Sansa tells herself this, but why would she ever dare to think that this tale with Margaery would be any different?

When they leave, Sansa explains honestly that she enjoys the way Margaery smiles, which illicits a blush. It's nice, for a second until Sansa remembers that she knows how this story ends. 


End file.
